


Philosophy by Numbers

by kimoi



Category: Homestuck
Genre: ???? - Freeform, Electrostimulation, M/M, Masturbation, Other, Self-cest, selfcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 22:49:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimoi/pseuds/kimoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>**not the inanimate sequel**</p><p>is creating a program to let your auto-responder jerk you off considered self-cest or just plain masturbation?</p><p> </p><p>((based entirely on this http://faun-songs.tumblr.com/post/39406721183 ))</p>
            </blockquote>





	Philosophy by Numbers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [faun-songs](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=faun-songs).



There was no way in fucking hell Dirk Strider was blushing right now. Not a single soul in the world could convince him of this fact because let’s face it - Dirk Strider is a stone-cold son of a bitch.

TT: I think I’m almost finished.  
TT: I never thought I’d see the day you got this desperate.  
TT: Yeah? You’re the one off flirtlarping with some drunken princess. Who seems more desperate here? At least I’m willing to give into carnal desire by programming something that will allow me to actually get off.  
TT: With your own hand.  
TT: Tsk tsk. I’m not entirely sure you are in complete understanding of what exactly I’m programming.  
TT: Shame, I thought you were more advanced than that.  
TT: It seems that you think I’m incapable of putting two and two together.  
TT: Or have you forgotten how you used to handle this by your poor little lonesome?  


Nope, still not blushing. Even recollecting the instances in which the AR would lay out intricate scenarios for him to enjoy whilst jerking himself off. Sometimes his own imagination wasn’t enough; if great minds thought alike, and there was strength in numbers - why let a good thing go to waste?

TT: ‘Poor little lonesome’.  
TT: At least one of us actually gets the satisfaction.  


Satisfied with the silence, he offered his computer screen a smug smirk, and continued with coding. Nearly there. It really wasn’t difficult - the hardest part was going to be allowing AR to travel down into the little diodes that he’d have attached to his hand and arm. It was just a bit of a tight squeeze for such an advanced program. He didn’t want him to be stretched so thin he couldn’t operate. It was a baseless fear, Dirk knew that AR could do it - he just hated working on something, getting excited for it, and having it fuck up.

There was time for a break and he took it, deciding that AR needed a moment to get over the internal tantrum he was no doubt having. Kitchen was but a short jaunt away, and a brand-new bottle of orange soda practically glistened at him from the fridge. God bless America. Chugging nearly half of it by the time he was back at his desk, he extended an olive branch of peace to his temperamental AI.

TT: Check yourself, the program’s practically done.  


Some olive branch.

TT: Oh, you’re still here?  
TT: I was worried you’d gone and tried auto-erotic asphyxiation.  
TT: Whoops, there I go. Mixing ‘worried’ and ‘hoping’ again.  
TT: You’d be so lucky.  
TT: Anyway, you ready?  
TT: Do I have a choice?  
TT: Yes, actually.  
TT: I’ll give you the honor of naming the program.  
TT: Wow. So generous.  
TT: You have until I’m done hooking these diodes up.  


18 on his hand, 4 on his forearm, 5 on his bicep, and 3 that were on his shoulder blade - 2 on the front, one on the back. He opened and closed his hand, wiggled his fingers a little. It was a bit uncomfortable, but that wouldn’t matter. Shit, he was half-hard already just imagining everything the AR could do this way - calculate pressure with all those sexy numbers and percentages, pick up his heart rate and breathing rate... Fuck. Nimble, excited fingers hurriedly undid his pants, freeing himself with a quick tug.

TT: Ready yet?  
TT: In fact, I am.  
TT: Alright, go for it.  
TT: ‘dirkingit.exe’  
TT: You’re welcome.  
TT: Fuck you.  
TT: But whatever. Let’s do this.  


Taking in a deep breath, he double-clicked the newly-named program. Almost instantly, the wires trailing up his arm turned red.

TT: You’re in for a real fucking treat.  
TT: I better be.  
TT: Them’s fightin’ words, pardner.  


This time, the notification showed up on his shades.

TT: I swear to fucking god if you’re going to start trying to dirty talk me in a southern drabble I will decommission the fuck out of you right now.  


His right hand jerked away from the keyboard, and instead gripped his knee tightly. He couldn’t move it.

TT: I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, Dirk.  
TT: Don’t you fucking start.  
TT: That your heart rate picking up, or are you just happy to see me?  
TT: Cute. Will you just get to work already?  
TT: You’re the boss.  
TT: For now.  


As if testing his abilities, Dirk’s arm lifted away from his knee; each finger in turn tapping the thumb of that hand. Then he made a fist, the pressure slowly increasing until his nails were digging into his palm so hard it nearly hurt. Good. Grip relaxed, arm bending at the elbow, then slowly lifting as if testing the bigger points of articulation. Everything seemed to be in working order. If Dirk hadn’t been so sure of himself he might have been proud. But right now he was just impatient, and he grumbled a sigh. Needy hands reached to collect some unscented hand lotion from the dispenser on his desk. Something about boyscouts and always being prepared.

TT: Oh? What was that?  
TT: Knock it the fuck off.  
TT: Just do something already.  
TT: Say the magic word.  


Another grumble left him and he glowered into the text in front of his eyes. For the love of fuck. Through gritted teeth he mumbled a ‘please’.

TT: Good boy.  


His hand moved again, this time careful fingers crept towards his impatiently hard cock.

“Yessss,” he egged on under his slightly quickened breath. Fuck, half the excitement was his goddamn program working. Actually, most of it. AR seemed to know what he was doing, so he was confident. One by one fingers wrapped around; covering base to just under the head. It hadn’t even moved and he felt himself shudder, head tipping back.

TT: Jesus, calm down.  
TT: Can’t tell me what to do.  
TT: Besides, calming me down is the exact opposite of what this was meant to do.  
TT: I guess you’re right.  
TT: Your shit’s wrecked, Dirk.  


It was then his hand began moving up and down - just as he expected; it was precise and devastating and AR could read him so perfectly it was maddening. Fingers oscillated their pressure one by one in his strokes, as if he were still toying with the new power he had over his creator. He was barely fucking doing anything out of the ordinary, and Dirk was already practically begging him to do more.

TT: You’re responding admirably.  
TT: In the short time you were attaching the diodes, I made a few changes to your coding.   
TT: You did what?  
TT: Not to worry, I believe you’ll enjoy them.  


“Fuck you,” Dirk breathed on a laugh, other hand running through his hair. A certain and precise grip and stroke made him close his fist around the blonde locks, and moan a little into the air. This was already better than most of his own sessions, why the fuck hadn’t he thought of this before? It had been a relatively painless process, and he’d had the diodes from a prior experiment relating to his endurance while strifing with Sawtooth and Squarewave. All he’d done was wire them up, fashion it to a usb plug and wrote the handful of code - and here he was now.

“Fuck,” he panted, head lolling a little. Hand was still gripping tightly, feeling the burn in his temple from his pulling.

TT: Not much different from what you’ve been doing. Some surprise.  
TT: Who said I’d done it yet?  


Oh. He hadn’t thought of that. Then again, there wasn’t much else going on in his head aside how incredible this felt. It was like being jacked off by someone else entirely - the motions were so unpredictable, it was easy to forget that the arm was attached to his own body.

“Wh-whatever you’re doing then, don’t _f-fucking stop._ ”

TT: I wasn’t planning on it.  


Fuck, he could almost _hear_ him chuckling. Cocky bastard. Cocky magnificent bastard. He’d upped the pace, and almighty _fuck_.  
  
 _”Shit!”_

TT: I done it yet.  
TT: What in the actual span of anything that can be considered ‘fuck’ is that?  
TT: Electrostimulation. For as depraved as you are I’m surprised you’ve never heard of it.  


Not necessarily outsmarted by, but he’d been one-upped by his own creation. Christ almighty, it intensified the experience tenthfold. Hand had slipped from his hair and he was now bracing himself against his chair, helplessly bucking his hips into what could only be considered a phantom limb now. Arm was entirely numb, the jolts of mild electricity making his whole fucking body twitch. One-upped by his own creation. _Fuck, he was so close._ His AI self. _So fucking close._ His 13 year-old AI self. _So... fucking... close..._

TT: Stop.  
TT: AR stop.  


_”F-fuck, shit - stop-”_

TT: Why do you want me to stop, Dirk?  


_”Nnngh-”_

TT: Aren’t the slight electrical impulses I’m sending pleasant?  
TT: I am 100% sure I detected a heightened temperature and pulse. And your muscle tension had risen, too.  


Muscle tension, temperature, pulse - yeah, he’d taken fucking notice. He was trembling with how tightly he was gripping the chair, beads of sweat were making his bangs stick to his forehead - and his panting had gotten deeper, more desperate.

_”Nngnh - fuck, shut up, you’re 13-”_

TT: Come on, Dirk. You’re so close.  


It was then he felt a slightly stronger electric jolt spread through his fingertips, and it was enough to send him over the edge. He moaned lengthily as he came, and in the star-smattered moment it didn’t fucking matter. AR was a fucking computer program and Dirk had created him. Upgraded him. With the amount of work he’d done AR was probably years older than him by now. He wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse. But he was coming down now, panting breaths evening out as he was able to settle back into the chair without feeling like he’d fall out of it. Shivers still chased their way through him, but for the most part, he was back on the ground.

TT: Satisfied?  
TT: Shut up.  
TT: Are you embarrassed or something? I mean, Fuck, Dirk. You can’t tell me that wasn’t the best fucking orgasm you’ve ever had.  


In irritation, he slugged his needle-prick-feeling arm up to the keyboard, closing the program. Wiped his free hand across his forehead. Fuck. He kept his mouth shut - but he wasn’t going to argue.

**Author's Note:**

> if this gets a positive enough response i'll add a few more chapters!


End file.
